


From Our Trees Hang Jasper Hearts

by kashinoha



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell - Susanna Clarke, Ladies of Grace Adieu - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Childermass wonders why he is doing this, Footnotes, Humor, Post-Series, mentions of Vinculus's questionable lifestyle, the Raven King is a little shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-04-10 02:56:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4374485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kashinoha/pseuds/kashinoha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One could scarcely imagine Vinculus sitting down to tea, least of all with the three ladies of Grace Adieu.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

 All characters © Susanna Clarke **  
**

 

 _Hear now the words of the Witches,_  
_The secrets we hid in the night,_  
 _When dark was our destiny’s pathway,_  
 _That now we bring forth into light._

 _-The Witches Creed,_ Doreen Valiente

 

 

Two men rode at dusk—one with a silver scar gracing his left cheek and the other thin with blue markings on his skin.

There was no one on the roads. Dusk was not a time you wanted to be about, even in Southern England. It was _his_ time.

The two men stopped at the edge of a farmer’s field and dismounted their horses to inspect a map over candlelight. A scarecrow leered at them. People had taken to building them due to the country’s sudden, curious inpouring of ravens. Unfortunately it did no good, as ravens were smarter than crows and could easily distinguish a real gentleman from a fake one.

The thin man, deciding the scarecrow’s coat was going to waste, shrugged it off the figure and draped it over his own shoulders as the sky began to sprinkle droplets of rain on them. Perhaps the most mystical of times were when it was raining. As it was England, this happened quite often. The falling sheets of rain seemed reflective, as if one could simply walk through them and be gone.

For a while the two men slept under strange stars. The man with the silver scar would dream of the trees and the sky speaking to him, as he sometimes did. He would listen to the rain and the stones speak, and would almost understand. At times he would question if he even wanted to.

He would share these dreams with the thin man, and often found that the thin man dreamt the same as him.

To-night they dreamed of where they were going. They never knew exactly _why_ they were going, only that it was where they were supposed to go. And they were content with that.

As he sometimes did after waking, the second man thought of telling the man with the silver scar that he could see their King’s Letters glowing on his eyelids, his lips; over his heart, as plain and white as the rising sun. But in the end he said nothing. Like always.

The first man splashed water from a canteen on his face and gazed up at the pocks in the moon. The second man lay in the grass with his hands behind his head, humming a ballad that had long come to pass but that still surfaced from time to time out of habit.

After a while they mounted their horses and continued on their way.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

1818

 

It was with much relief that John Childermass shed his wide-brimmed hat and fake monocle. Old Milverton was far enough south that they did not require themselves clad in disguises, and while Childermass normally relished the incognito experience September was too muggy a time for such accoutrements.

He suspected it was due to the unnatural good fortune that surrounded Vinculus that they had not encountered any brigands in the hills on their way.1 And yet, it had taken him and Vinculus longer than expected to reach the hamlet, in part because there were no markers in the South. Childermass and Vinculus had an excellent sense of direction, but lately roads had opened up where roads had no business being. It was not uncommon nowadays to get lost in England and never return. Magic was everywhere now. The North was full of markers to guide travelers on their paths lest they find themselves in a strange land. Or, God forbid, Wales.

The South held no such guides. Only a night ago Childermass and Vinculus had turned left out of Royal Leamington Spa and had found themselves in a conical stone house covered with turf. When they inquired as to where they were, a small stocky fellow with an uncanny amount of body hair informed them that they were in the Outer Hebrides.2

Though now in the correct town, Childermass had far from a merry countenance to-day. This could be attributed to a slight headache that had been plaguing him for most of the morning. When Jonathan Strange had first dowsed England with magic Childermass, to his own annoyance, had been prone to fits of swooning. At night, just stepping outside caused him to become dizzy and clammy all over, as if suffering from a fever or a grippe of the sorts. Vinculus shewed no such magical sensitivities, which was something Childermass took great care not to think about in detail because Vinculus was an anomaly that lay outside the Laws of English Magic (and outside the Laws of Englishness in general, if one were to be frank).

After some months Childermass had learned to tune out the magic in the air like he would some particularly noxious pipe smoke; the only inclination that he was affected at all was that he suffered headaches from time to time.

Warwickshire had several hamlets, the muggiest and moistest of them being Old Milverton. It had been on Vinculus’s “good authority” that there lived an acquaintance of his here who could prepare them for their journey to Gloucestershire.

“She is in the floral business,” Vinculus claimed. “We go way back, her and me.” He shot Childermass a grin. “I met her when I was running from you, actually. Lovely woman. Good with ah, _herbs.”_

“So I am assuming she is a gypsy of the sorts?” Childermass asked, massaging his temple with a thumb and forefinger.

Vinculus looked mortified. “Don’t ever call her that to her face if you value your tallywags intact, John Childermass,” he said, shaking a finger. “She runs a right decent flower shop and does not take kindly to claims of petty cozening.”

Mrs Cartwright, as she was called, did indeed own a flower shop at the corner of a dirt road labeled _Dunn Street_ on a worn-looking, chipped wooden sign. The horticulture was in fact so vibrant that upon walking in Childermass dug in his pack for his hat, feeling a stab of pain between his eyes as his headache reared anew like an ill-tempered horse.

Vinculus, charming as ever, plucked a handful of carnations from a pot and presented them to the middle-aged woman at the table. The woman called him by an unfamiliar name, to which Vinculus scratched his beard and corrected, imploring that they discuss matters more suited for downstairs. The woman, who Childermass presumed Mrs Cartwright, returned the carnations and folded her arms.

“Bide within the Law you must, in perfect Love and perfect Trust,” she said, looking at the two of them expectantly.

“Ye must live and yet live, fairly take and fairly give,” Vinculus replied, without batting an eye. Childermass shook his head. Really, he should not find such things surprizing anymore.

Satisfied, Mrs Cartwright beckoned them to follow.

“First line of the Law of witchcraft,” Vinculus explained to Childermass, trailing behind her. “You understand the privacy.”

Childermass nodded. While the Aureates all had public Christian personae, it was known now that their magic stemmed from pagan, if not specifically Pictish or Druid practises. Norrell had not doted much on the arts of witchcraft, seeing womenfolk unsuitable for magic (and yet blatantly disregarding the fact that Catherine of Winchester had obviously been, if not anything, a practising pagan).

Mrs Cartwright shewed them down a damp, spiral banister at the back of the shop that led to a basement room. As she produced a brass key and pushed open the door with a creak, Childermass could not help but think that the room inside was how a magician’s study ought to look. Cauldrons and sage bundles and tiny glass bottles were arranged neatly into curio shelves at every opportunity. Mango sunlight washed in through the windows and gave the room a golden, earthy feel.

Mrs Cartwright smiled. She was a medium-sized woman with a long, grey-streaked braid hidden by a bonnet and a face like a ripe pear. “I shall see to you in just a moment,” she told them, before disappearing behind another door.

Childermass, who had been examining a jar of something green, was not aware that she had left until he felt Vinculus tapping him on the shoulder.

“There is, eh, a matter I should perhaps inform you of,” said Vinculus.

Childermass narrowed his eyes. If he knew any better he would have said that Vinculus sounded guilty. “What is it?”

Vinculus, clearing his throat, replied, “Mrs Cartwright likes to do her work skyclad3.”

“Skyclad?” asked Childermass, who was unfamiliar with the term.

“I forgot to mention it before,” said Vinculus, rubbing a blue lemniscate on his neck and looking at the floor. It did little to hide the fact that he was quite amused by the matter (and at Childermass’s expense, most likely).

Childermass wore a dangerous expression. “Vinculus,” he said.

Vinculus opened his palms and smiled. “Surely it will not be a pr—“

“Now, then!” exclaimed Mrs Cartwright, standing at the door, ready to do business. “May I assist you boys to-day?”

Childermass would have normally nodded in affirmation, if not for the fact that his current vendor was completely naked. It had been some time since Childermass had beheld any nakedness that was not his own, but it was nothing he had not seen before and he was able to recover fairly quickly.

With a cough, he said, “We require some spells of protection for our journey.”

“You are magicians. Cannot you perform them yourselves?” Mrs Cartwright asked, frowning.

“We do not know the spells, my lady,” Vinculus said.

Mrs Cartwright nodded. “Where are you going, then?” She had a lovely West Midlands accent that fit well with her round shape and sun-burnished skin.

“Gloucestershire,” declared Vinculus.

“I have heard some talk of magic there,” said Mrs Cartwright as she sat down on a pillow cross-legged. Childermass tried to look elsewhere. His eyes fell on Vinculus, whose countenance suggested he was holding back laughter. “Whereabouts?”

“Grace Adieu, we think. By Fairford.”

Mrs Cartwright put a hand to her mouth. “Well that is certainly a different story then,” she said. “I shall make the two of you some angelica amulets4 which you must wear over your hearts if you wish to avoid enchantment.”

Childermass and Vinculus watched silently as Mrs Cartwright began to gather the appropriate ingredients. She seemed completely comfortable in her own skin as she worked, talking to herself merrily and flipping her braid over one shoulder from time to time. Childermass could see why Vinculus liked her.

“…let us see…a thimbleful of black salt,5 a pinch of bergamot to sharpen intuition, not that you boys need any of it, from looking at you,” Mrs Cartwright was muttering. She peered at Childermass. “I was going to say something before, but you do look rather peaky, my dear,” she said. “It is the magic, is it not?”

Childermass, not accustomed to being asked about his wellbeing, let alone from a naked woman, replied, “I am fine, madam.”

“These should help,” said Mrs Cartwright, gesturing to the two small pouches on her tabletop. She continued her work, as Childermass watched idly and Vinculus fiddled with a loose thread on his sleeve. At one point she produced two stones of red jasper, brecciated and holed at the top to allow one to pull a string through them. Mr Norrell had never put much value into gems, choosing to spend his money on books in lieu of divinatory objects. Childermass recalled a rather lengthy lecture Norrell had given him on one occasion warning against the dangers of Lithomancy. Ergo his knowledge of crystals and minerals of the such was scant at best.

Mrs Cartwright had them bathe their stones in salt water for an hour while she finished the angelica. When the stones were clean, she drew a circle and lit a candle.

“For protection against the night,” she explained.

Childermass and Vinculus held their jasper above the flames while Mrs Cartwright began, “In the name of the blessed Trinity, I consecrate this piece of ground for our defence; so that no evil spirit may have power to break these bounds prescribed here6.” She recited some other things that Childermass and Vinculus had only the vaguest understandings of, but there was suddenly a mineral taste to the air and Childermass felt a tingling along his skin.

Once the gems and herbs were finished Mrs Cartwright produced some yarn and instructed Childermass and Vinculus to tie both around their necks. Childermass tucked the amulet under his cravat, and was surprized to discover his headache gone, as if it had never been there in the first place. It lightened his mood considerably.

“You,” said Mrs Cartwright to Vinculus, touching a blue triangle on his wrist, “cannot escape your magic. I doubt such an amulet will be much more than a geegaw to you.”

Vinculus smiled, showing yellowed teeth. “Well it is the thought that counts, is it not, my lady?”

With a laugh Mrs Cartwight shewed them out, her braid falling over one shoulder and trailing behind her. “Fare well in Grace Adieu, and heed caution when you encounter the Powers,” she warned them.

“With thanks to you madam, we should be safe from those spells that await us now,” said Childermass, placing two guineas into her palm and bowing.

“Spells? Oh, you misunderstand me!” Mrs Cartwright exclaimed. She laughed again. “No,” she said, winking, “I am talking of women.”

 

* * *

Footnotes:

1 After the Revival the businesses of such mountain bandits dwindled considerably. Some of them had taught themselves to summon riches by magic (and by riches we mean mostly chickens and clothes, with the occasional gold piece to purchase more chickens). The ones who remained seemed to be completely oblivious to Childermass and Vinculus, either because they mistook them for one of their own or because the pair possessed nothing the highwaymen wished to plunder.

2 Presumably, this fellow was one of the Picts of the Western Isles. They were often described as living in hills and were scarcely over four feet tall. Giving that not a true Pict had been seen since the 10th century, and one in a loincloth at that, Childermass and Vinculus were apt to question not just where they ended up but _when._

3 Skyclad refers to ritual nudity. Clothing, by some, was said to interfere with the magic, and was therefore discarded. This practise has been lost in modern English magic, in no small part because of Gilbert Norrell’s prudery. Childermass suspects London might have become a very interesting place indeed had it not been.  

4 Angelica is one of the main protective herbs in herbal lore. It is said to banish hexes or spells, build barriers against negative energies, and prevent fatigue.

5 Salt in general purifies and protects against evil. Black salt absorbs negative energy and wards off ill intents.

6 Quoted from Johannes Trithemius (1462-1516): _The art of drawing spirits into crystals._ Actual work.

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

Naming pubs and taverns after fruits, it seemed, was not strictly a Northern practise. The Apple Tree in Cirencester was the place to be if one wished to find himself in the company of bad fiddle playing, pungent burghers, and loose tongues.

Childermass sipped a tepid pint of ale and picked at his unappetizing pork scratchings, regretting his decision to order them as he was not particularly hungry. He did not care for pubs but nor did he mind them terribly; they were efficient in getting information that could prove valuable later on. No matter how overpriced they were.

Vinculus was playing faro over at the corner table (and winning, by the sounds of it). Childermass shook his head and returned to the conversation at his own table, as it was becoming rather interesting. He had seen to it.

“But magic is rife in England now,” said Childermass, feigning the ignorance of a traveler. “Surely a few disappearances merit no cause for alarm.”

A swarthy fellow across the table shook his head. “A few, aye. But twelve gentlemen in the past two years,” he exclaimed. “An’ more ‘n half of ‘em gone this year!”

“How do you know they are not being stolen into Faerie?” asked Childermass.

“Because sometimes they come back,” the swarthy fellow said, placing a cupped hand to his cheek. He probably thought he was being mysterious, but all it accomplished was making him harder to hear over the pub’s noise.

Childermass narrowed his eyes. “So they are not disappearances, then.”

“Worse,” the swarthy fellow said, swallowing. “They are murders, sir. Murders by magic.”

“Have the authorities investigated these, ah, _irregularities?”_ asked Childermass.

“Aye,” replied the swarthy fellow. He took a swig of his drink and wiped the foam off his chin. “They all come back sayin’ the same thing. Which is to say they haven’t seen nothing,” he said, and made an odd gesture to his face. “All have the same funny look in their eyes too, as if they was tryina’ remember something.”

“The alderman’s son went looking you know, after the Digby boy disappeared in June,” chimed in another fellow on Childermass’s right. His eyes were dark and drooping. “He was one of the few who came back.”

Childermass took a sip of his drink. “And?”

“An’ he was white,” the swarthy fellow finished, apparently familiar with the story.

“Was he not before?”

“Nay, his _hair,”_ the sad-eyed fellow said. “He went in with a mop of chestnut brown on his head, and when he came out of Winter’s Realm even his beard was white! Now he’s an old fogey of five and twenty! And did you hear, just this morning the Falmont boy was reported missing!”

“It’s right strange, it is,” said the swarthy fellow. “Some have taken to calling Grace Adieu the Man-Eating village.” He shook his head in obvious distaste at the name. “It shan’t stick.”

“Perhaps not,” replied the sad-eyed fellow, “but if this keeps up there will be more ladies than gentlemen in Grace Adieu.”

Childermass thought of commenting that this might be an improvement, but a loud cheer arose from the back table before he could do as such. Vinculus was doing a little dance around the table with a handful of banknotes while several red-faced men shook their fists at him.

“You fobbing bum!”

“I can assure you there was no fobbing involved,” Vinculus gleefully informed the man who had spoken. Childermass rolled his eyes. Judging from Vinculus’s staggering gate, he was as blitzed as the rest of them.

“I refuse to believe I am absent twenty guineas,” the man exclaimed.

Vinculus frowned. “That is because you’re a clotpole,” he said. The man took on an even pinker colour and began to argue with Vinculus. Childermass could have told the man that it was pointless to do so, but he had other matters to attend to.

“Winter’s Realm, you say?” he asked, turning his attention back to the men at his table. The swarthy fellow nodded.

“Surely you are not thinking of going there!” said the sad-eyed fellow, looking concerned. “They are Devil Ladies, sir, un-Christian diabolists. You will end up like the others.”

Childermass ignored the fellow. “I believe you said three women live there?”

“Aye, three,” agreed the swarthy fellow, “but I would not recommend you paying them a visit, sir.”

“I often do things I am recommended not to,” replied Childermass, smiling a twisted smile. He placed a tip by his half-finished ale and rose. “You gents have been most informative.”

Behind them, the conversation at the faro table was getting more heated.

“A goatish little moldwarp like you no doubt cheated,” one man was protesting. “I have been at this game for years and am sure of it!”

“I beg your pardon? It is I with your banknotes,” said Vinculus, making a burlesque of sniffing the notes like they were a particularly aromatic wine.

“Sit down and we shall settle this, you mangy cur!”

“I cannot hear you over the crinkling of this paper, sir.”

“Why, you! I shan’t take dreck from one who likely finds himself shitten with his puttock bushel-bubby of a mother—“

Vinculus snorted. “And you were swived in the arse by a doxy with no bubbies—“

Childermass grabbed Vinculus by the collar. “We are leaving,” he growled.

Once they were outside in the night air and Vinculus had sobered up a bit, Childermass said, “’Tis three ladies we are to visit in Grace Adieu.”

“I know,” said Vinculus, and grinned at the look Childermass was giving him. “You reckon all I did was play cards and insult people, did you?”

Childermass shrugged. “Tell me differently, then.”

Vinculus held up three fingers. “Miss Parbringer, Mrs Field, and Miss Tobias,” he said. “You do not want to upset these ladies by any means. Word in the village is they turn gents they don’t fancy into dormice. Among other nasties.”

“Dormice?” said Childermass. He frowned, scar pulling down on one side of his face. “Animal transfiguration is incredibly advanced.”

“And then they eat the mice and cough up the little bones at their afternoon tea,” Vinculus told Childermass. “Got that lovely bit from a fellow shooting the cat into a wassail bowl.1” He pocketed his banknotes. It was an idle gesture, and one poorly masking the fact that Vinculus was quite thrilled by the whole matter of ladies turning men into vermin.

Childermass shook his head, thinking aloud: “Do they eat the mice as humans, or perhaps they transform into cats or some bird of prey…?” He cupped his chin in one hand. “Either way that magic should not be possible without extensive reading and study. And Norrell,” he said, “has all the books.”

“Well apparently he doesn’t now, does he?”

Childermass suddenly found himself smiling. “If these young ladies have magic that no one has ever heard of, then who is to say they cannot assist us with the King’s Book?” he mused, feeling the first stirrings of excitement in his gut. Or maybe those were the pork scratchings.

“And who is to say they will not turn us into mice?” Vinculus pointed up and down the length of his torso. “Do you reckon I would still have all my Letters as a mouse?” he asked, cocking his head. He did not mean his literacy.

“Perhaps we should have tea with the ladies and discover that for ourselves,” said Childermass. His smile took on a darker quality. “I hope you do not object to buying a fresh suit with your banknotes, Vinculus.”

Vinculus pulled a face. “If they turn us into dormice I shall allow you to be eaten first,” he announced.

 

* * *

Footnotes:

1 Slang used to describe vomiting from drunkenness.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

On some level both Childermass and Vinculus had been fantasizing the Ladies of Grace Adieu three old, wart-ridden crones, as was apparent from their faces when a rather sweet-looking young woman with blonde ringlets answered the door. They introduced themselves with their real names (or in Vinculus’s case, the one he was most known by) and asked that they have tea at their behest.

“Oh, you are a Yorkshireman!” Miss Parbringer, the one with the ringlets, exclaimed to Childermass upon hearing his accent. “I have always wished to visit the King’s land. Tell me Mr Childermass, is it as magical as I have imagined it?”

“Indeed, madam.”

Miss Parbringer peered at him. “You seem oddly familiar, sir,” she observed. “Perhaps we have met somewhere before1?”

“That is unlikely, madam,” said Childermass, though he let a lock of hair fall into his face to hide the twitching of his lips. “As you say, I am a Yorkshireman.”

Miss Parbringer, Mrs Field, and Miss Tobias were all young women with not a mole or snaggle tooth to be found. They led them to a spacious parlour where they served Silver Needle white tea and biscuits politely, if a trifle cool. Vinculus shewed a particular interest in Miss Parbringer and kept smoothing down his natty hair. Childermass made a mental note to keep an eye on him, since Vinculus was thrice her age, but was glad to see that the young lady exhibited no reciprocity in the least and seemed to take humor in his advances.

Childermass felt the angelica and jasper around his neck grow warm. This house, which was dark and cool and reminded him too much of Starecross for his liking, seeped magic from every stone. He found himself glad that they had stopped in Old Milverton.

“I must say, it came as quite a surprise to find the servant of Gilbert Norrell and the Magician of Threadneedle Street at our door,” said Miss Tobias, “though I find it is customary for one to write before paying someone a visit.”

“Pardons, madam. We would have done so if we had known ourselves that we were coming,” Childermass replied, which earned him an odd look from the ladies.

Mrs Field cleared her throat. “Naturally we know who you are, but I am sorry to say your travels here have been for naught.”

“Is that so?” said Vinculus, tugging at the collar of his new blouse, which was stiff and crisp and ill-suited for him.

“We are flattered that you shew an interest in our magic,” began Mrs Field. “Alas…” she seemed unsure of how to proceed and turned to the others for assistance.

“Forgive us, sirs, but the intentions of the gentlemen who come here have proved hardly eleemosynary,” said Miss Parbringer. “It is in the nature of such gentlemen to take advantage of a woman or a child.”

“The hamartia of men alike,” agreed Mrs Field.

Childermass raised an eyebrow. “Surely you ladies have not become so jaded as to believe that this is how all gentlemen behave,” he said. “Some are indeed rum culls2 but there are right noble ones among us.” He nodded to Vinculus, who was currently struggling with an oversized mouthful of biscuit. “Even that one.”

Miss Tobias surveyed them over her cup. “And you two believe yourselves to be such gentlemen?” she asked.

Vinculus, who had swallowed his biscuit, said, “We have our moments, miss. Though I myself am quite fond of a good running smobble3 I am trying to do better.”

“We do not smile upon mockery, sir,” replied Mrs Field, unfamiliar with Vinculus’s peculiar sense of humor. “If you have nothing worthwhile to occupy our time with I suggest you leave before you join the others who have visited here.”

“Regarding those poor gents,” Childermass said. He stroked his chin. “It is to my understanding that you, ah, _dispose_ of them.”

“If they present us with threat,” said Miss Tobias, giving Childermass a hard stare. Both Childermass and Vinculus were accustomed to cool treatment and were therefore unruffled. The three ladies, unaccustomed to people being accustomed to cool treatment, became even cooler. It was a dangerous gamble, considering who their players were, but Childermass had always been good with cards.

“Madams,” he began, setting his cup down. “We only wish to know what sort of magic it is you do here, and in exchange we can offer you the Book of the Raven King. It is in our possession.” Miss Tobias smiled at this, bringing her teacup to her lips. She wore a lace dress the colour of lilacs bathed in moonlight and despite her youth there were snaps of silver in her hair.4

“We do not need your Book,” she said.

“It is the most powerful Book in all of England right now,” said Childermass, eyes narrowing. “And yet it holds no value to either of you?”

At that moment, before anyone could answer, Miss Parbringer was suddenly seized with a bout of retching. Childermass was reminded of a cat coughing up a hairball. Vinculus stopped smoothing down his hair and stared as Miss Parbringer coughed and heaved and finally spat a wad of something into her napkin. Afterwards she wiped her eyes and excused herself. Both Miss Tobias and Mrs Field looked impassive as Miss Parbringer folded her napkin over something furry and grey-brown.

“I assume that was the Falmont boy,” Childermass said dryly, recalling his conversation at the pub.

Vinculus was peering at the napkin with utter fascination. With two fingers, he lifted the folded portion of the napkin up for a better look. “Splendid, my ladies!” he marveled. “Tell me, what are the nutritional benefits of mice? Do they add a shine to the hair? Perhaps they strengthen the teeth, as one would need them to crunch those bones!”

Childermass bowed his head. “We implore you, Miss Parbringer, Miss Tobias, Mrs Field,” he said quietly. “You are obviously capable of a very different kind of magic than we have hitherto seen. It would give us no greater pleasure than to learn this magic from you.”

This certainly shocked the Ladies of Grace Adieu. They had expected the two men to be frightened off by this display, or at the very least appalled and mortified. Instead, they found that their plan to scare off their guests had merely encouraged them into an act of humbleness.

Miss Tobias gave them a curious look. “You wish to be instructed,” she said, slowly.

“We are but the King’s Men, and that is all we will ever be,” replied Childermass. “Our only purpose in these ventures is to serve him and we would gladly take any opportunity to do so, should it come our way.”

“’Tis the truth, miss,” said Vinculus, sober.

For some time the three ladies said nothing. Mrs Field and Miss Parbringer seemed to defer to Miss Tobias, who contemplated her cup. Perhaps it was the reflection of the sunlight in the tea, but Childermass thought something warmer in her eyes.

Finally, Miss Tobias said, “We see that you are honest in your intentions. As magicians yourselves, both of you understand the nature and depth of what we practise.” Childermass bowed his head and Vinculus gave a toothy smile. Miss Tobias shared a look with Miss Parbringer and Mrs Field and nodded.

“Join us at sunset to-morrow,” she said. “We will teach you for one night. However,” she warned, punctuating this with a sip of her tea, “we shan’t turn a blind eye to these gifts being abused. You shall not use them for your own gain; riches or…pleasure or the like.”

“Believe you me,” said Vinculus, tugging again at his new scratchy blouse, “I find opulence quite overrated.”

Miss Parbringer giggled. “I am glad to hear so,” she said.

Childermass curbed his excitement with thoughts of how exactly this would aid them on their—dare he say it, quest. Because it really was a quest of the sorts. In lieu of the Holy Grail lay the Book of the Raven King, though Childermass surmised to himself that it was a rather backwards quest. They already had their item. Indeed; it was all theirs and they were unable to read a blasted word of it. Leads had been few, and John Uskglass himself—who Childermass found cursing these days as well as revering—was nowhere to be seen.

It was likely they could leave this place crunched between the jaws of some cat or bird, or perchance this was the abyss in their journey, and they were to emerge anew.

In a rather odd gesture, he reached over and shook each of the ladies’ hands. Bowing would have been more chivalrous, but they were well past Arthurian times and shaking hands at that moment simply seemed _right._ Vinculus, with a curious look, did the same. They then bid the ladies adieu (no pun intended) and went in search for an inn to stay at until the morrow.

“My, what a charming bunch of ladies,” Vinculus exclaimed as they rode towards the center of town. They passed the River Coln, which was burbling noisily. Childermass wondered what it was saying. He wondered if Vinculus was wondering the same.

“But this blouse on the other hand is deuced insufferable!” Apparently not.

“Then you should have chosen something more comfortable,” said Childermass, rolling his eyes. “If you like, we can stop and get another more to your liking.” An owl swooped overhead and perched on a branch of a nearby tree. Neither man noticed.

Vinculus laughed. “Why? Where we are going, I will not need any clothes.”

Childermass still only possessed the vaguest sense as to what the King’s Letters said. He did not know precisely what they would learn at Winter’s Realm, but he supposed if one were not a human perhaps one might fare better with the runes.

Then again, perhaps the Ladies of Grace Adieu meant to teach them a different kind of magic altogether.

 

* * *

Footnotes:

1 Childermass had visited Winter's Realm before, in the guise of Captain Winbright's servant, Jack Hogg. His purpose had been to keep an eye on Jonathan Strange, if merely to satisfy the paranoia of his master at the time.

2 Rum cull refers to a rich fool who is easily swindled. Usually by his mistress.

3 Vinculus is referencing a vein of thievery known as the "snatch-and-grab." One fellow snatches the goods and throws it to the other, whose success hinges on how good he is at running.

4 Records show that Jane Tobias would die six months later, in 1819. Surely, she left this world. But that is only because she went to another one. You can even see her sometimes, during those dreadful English storms, if you squint through the rain.

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

Finding scarcely anything to do in Grace Adieu, Childermass and Vinculus returned to Winter’s Realm early the next afternoon. It was a bright day, the sun high in the sky, and both Miss Parbringer and Miss Tobias were taking the two teenage girls of the house, Miss Ursula and Miss Flora, out to the orchard to pick apples. Childermass found it odd, since apple orchards were not known to grow in this part of the country (nor ones of such a prominent hue). Yet he had seen stranger things.

Free comestibles were a thing of beauty to Vinculus, who casually invited himself along to accompany the ladies in their apple picking. Miss Ursula and Miss Flora giggled at his expressions and his odd blue markings and pulled at his beard. By the end of the day Miss Flora was calling him “Uncle Vinculus,” much to Miss Tobias’s horror. Even so, Miss Tobias could not deny Vinculus had a way with the little ones, and they seemed to like him.

Childermass had seldom pictured himself a father. He had not seen much sense in it under Norrell’s employment nor did he see much of it now giving his current lifestyle, but the thought was known to visit now and then during sleepless nights. He was near but not yet fifty. It was not too late. That is, if he ever got this bloody Book read.

Miss Ursula and Miss Flora danced in the grass with their baskets of apples, looking for a moment transparent in the white-yellow light of the sun.

“Miss Tobias is their legal guardian,” Mrs Field explained to Childermass. “She tutors them. They are nigh fluent in Latin, can play the pianoforte, and their arithmetic skills are quite frightening, if I do say so myself.” They were seated at a wicker table beneath a tree with some lemon water. Childermass, accustomed to the cold Yorkshire winds, did not much care for the warm weather as it made him drowsy and uncomfortable.

“Is that so?” he said. He had never been one for small talk, and found it decidedly awkward to keep punctuating the conversation with the appropriate “ahs” and “hms” and “indeeds.”

Mrs Field nodded. “They are also learning the ways of magic.”

A chipper grey squirrel scampered past their feet. In the past hour Childermass had not failed to notice how the wildlife flocked towards Winter’s Realm. Quite the opposite had been the case at Starecross. Lady Pole had seemed to repel all animals. One never heard the birds chirping during her sojourn there, and the silence of the woods had scared many a traveler away from the Hall.

“Miss Tobias is quite protective of them,” continued Mrs Field. “Especially of Miss Ursula, who just turned sixteen this past May. They are quite beautiful girls, as I am sure you have noticed. Miss Tobias shews no mercy for those with ill intent towards them.”

Childermass decided to change the subject. Taking a drink of his lemon water, he asked, “Where is Mr Field?”

“Oh, he is gone,” Mrs Field said. Childermass coughed as some of his lemon water went down the wrong pipe. Mrs Field gave a laugh.

“Do not look so grieved, sir! It was not our doing,” she exclaimed. “Mr Field caught a chill two years ago by completely natural means, and we’ve all managed to split his rather sumptuous inheritance.” Setting down her glass, Mrs Field surveyed Childermass with an amused look. “You do not think highly of us, I see,” she observed.

“That is not it at all, madam,” said Childermass, shaking his head.

“Did you think us purveyors of senseless violence, Mr Childermass? We only resort to the kinds of things you have undoubtedly heard of when it is the most despicable sort of man in question,” said Mrs Field.

Childermass smiled. “You would get along well with Lady Pole, should you ever come across her,” he said. From out in the orchard he could hear the tinkling of bright laughter, like sun-bells. Vinculus was chasing Miss Flora around a tree, holding out the ends of his beard as if they were snakes. With a small smile, Childermass shook his head again.

“However,” he said to Mrs Field, “As rough as I may look I do not think I could kill a man.”

“And that is what separates you from us,” said Mrs Field, staring at Childermass matter-of-factly.

 

 

Miss Ursula and Miss Flora retired to their rooms to do their schoolwork once the sun sank into the horizon, while Miss Parbringer, Mrs Field, and Miss Tobias guided Childermass and Vinculus down a long corridor that led to their library.

Childermass shivered. The house of Winter’s Realm, for all its blue-grey stone and winding angles, could have been built in the North. The shadows of the rapidly fading day cast queer shapes over the floor and thoughts of De Chepe’s labyrinth swam into Childermass’s memory. But there was no spell on these hallways; only the sun.

“We can shew you how to understand the animals,” Miss Tobias told them, candelabra in her hand. It was not lit, yet in the growing darkness Miss Tobias seemed to know the path quite well and moved with ease. “We can shew you the magic of Catherine of Winchester and of other Aureates; we can shew you Chauntlucet,1 how to make homes from sticks and harvests from stones. But first we will read you to see if you are worthy of this magic.”

Vinculus raised an eyebrow; a gesture he most likely picked up from Childermass on their travels together. “Big heads you have, don’t you, ladies?” he said.

“On the contrary,” replied Mrs Field. “Magic stands before everything else, so we must act to the best of our abilities that it may not be abused.”

Childermass gave a nod. “That is something we agree upon.”

“Oh, and there is no use in wearing those silly little pendants,” said Miss Parbringer, gesturing to her neck. “It is best to remove them.”

In size, the library was not nearly as impressive as Norrell’s had been. In everything else, it was more so. The ladies had decorated the chamber with throw rugs the colors of the earth and harvests, and items of magic lay artfully strewn along the shelves and windows. The shelves themselves, though few in number, held volumes that Childermass had never seen before. Books Of Magic. Histories. Latin texts of the Aureates. Grimoires. Even Vinculus had quieted.

Without his necklace Childermass felt the familiar vertigo pull at his vision, making it tilt dangerously. He steadied himself against the back of a nearby chair. There was no magic being done at present, but the walls were coated with residual energy that spoke of hundreds, if not thousands of spells past cast.

Miss Tobias lit the candelabra. She did not use any matches to do so. It seemed that any daytime inhibitions regarding the use of magic were forgotten in the wake of the blossoming night. She gathered some of the flames on a thin stick and wafted them about the room, singing a lamenting, modal tune in Latin as she did so.

Vinculus paused. “Those are religious lines,” he observed.

Mrs Field nodded. “It is plainchant.”

“The Gregorian chants are Roman Catholic,” said Childermass, frowning. “I would have thought they had little place in English magic.”

“That is not the point, Mr Childermass,” replied Miss Parbringer. “The words are of no great value. It is merely sound. And sound, as we know, is vibrations, which are magical in and of themselves. Miss Tobias has a leaning towards Latin, that is all.”

Miss Tobias concluded her chant and returned the flame to the candelabra. “Miss Parbringer is well-versed in the practise of psychometry2,” she said, and held out her hands before Childermass and Vinculus. “Please give her something in your possession that you believe holds great value.”

Childermass felt around in his pockets for his cards. He extracted one without looking and handed it over to Miss Parbringer. She turned it over in her hands, and Childermass saw that he had given her _La Lune._ Vinculus bequeathed a browned apple core and a crumpled banknote. Miss Parbringer ran her hands over the items, feeling their textures. Childermass and Vinculus waited. Candlelight silhouettes flickered over their faces.

Finally, Miss Parbringer opened her eyes and smiled. “You two are very fine gentlemen indeed,” she said. Please forgive our former rudeness. I confess it is sometimes in our nature to judge without the insight acquaintance brings.” Both Childermass and Vinculus looked quite shocked and slightly offended at being called fine gentlemen, but they were relieved to have passed the ladies’ test.

“What vein of magic do you suppose will help you read his Letters?” Miss Tobias asked them.

“We were hoping you could tell us, my lady,” replied Vinculus, shrugging. “Perhaps something regarding stenography?”

Mrs Field frowned. “The Letters of the Raven King do not have any basis in the English language,” she pointed out.

“We know,” said Childermass, dry. “We have tried everything.”

“Well, have you not tried asking him directly?”

Both men stared.

“You mean summoning the Raven King,” said Childermass, blankly.

Vinculus blinked. “You can do that, can you?”

Miss Tobias bowed her head with a thin smile. “It is not so difficult.”

“That was magic that both Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell, combined, could not even achieve,” Childermass told them. “And Mr Norrell attempted it unsuccessfully for the better part of a decade. How did you bypass the nomenclature?”

“It was not an issue of their spell nor of naming, Mr Childermass,” replied Miss Parbringer. “Mr Uskglass comes only when he wishes to come. Besides,” she smiled, “what good is a name if your intentions are weak?”

“All one requires is a drop of blood and simple summoning spell under moonlight,” Mrs Field told them.

Childermass looked skeptical. “That is it?”

Miss Tobias’s smile widened. “Does that so astonish you? Surely you have not become as tainted by today’s inflated little magicians as to believe you need all this nonsense of scrying bowls, bundles of frankincense, twenty candles and Kat in your tea3.”

“Then do the magic, madams,” said Childermass, looking a tad miffed.

 _“You_ shall perform it while we observe,” replied Mrs Field. She walked over to an old pianoforte in the corner and sat on its bench, busying herself with a book that lay on its mantle. Miss Tobias had both Childermass and Vinculus prick their forefingers and hold them up to the window while she taught them the correct summoning spell. It was all surprizingly straightforward.

That is, until Miss Tobias said: “You have to give your heart to him.”

Childermass paused and threw a glance over his shoulder. “Have I not done that already?” he asked. “I can think of no one more dedicated to John Uskglass than I.”

“Dedicating your heart to him and actually giving it to him are separate matters entirely,” Miss Parbringer told him. Childermass looked over at Vinculus.

“He has no heart to give,” said Miss Parbringer, her gaze on Vinculus soft and thoughtful. “Curiously, it is already his.”

“That was easy,” said Vinculus.

Childermass lowered his bleeding digit. “I do not think I am quite ready to give away my heart,” he said.

“The summoning will not work unless you do so,” replied Miss Tobias. “I was under the notion that you would do anything for your King, but perhaps I was mistaken.”

“There is nothing I would not do for his likeness, madam,” agreed Childermass, nodding once. He rubbed his scar with a thumb. “But there is something that I am forgetting. And until I can recall it, I wish to keep my heart in a place where I can plainly see.”

Miss Parbringer peered at him. “What are you forgetting, sir?”

Childermass looked at Vinculus once more, and felt a familiar tingling along his eyelids, lips, and heart. He had once dreamed of Vinculus screaming, with blood in his eyes and a bruise around his neck, and of something soft and black.

“I will know when I remember it,” he said.

“Then whenever you find yourself ready, John Childermass, do the spell,” said Miss Tobias. She turned towards them. “You know the words of the Yorkshire Game, do you not?”

 _“I greet thee, Lord, and bid thee welcome to my heart,”_ recited Vinculus.

Miss Tobias nodded. “For now, if you wish, we may teach you some basic transfiguration spells—none of which will be as effective if you do not open your heart to him, of course, but they may prove useful on your travels.”

So Childermass listened to the ladies as the hour grew late, feeling unsettled in some way. Such moods were not unfamiliar to him, especially following his partnership with Vinculus, who he had found half hanged from a tree on a winter morning long ago.

It was the feeling that he had missed something important, though for the life of him Childermass could not recall what it was.

 

* * *

Footnotes:

1 A defunct spell whose purpose was to encourage the moon to sing.

2 The art of discovering facts, details, and the history of a person simply by touching objects associated with them.

3 An old English herb that is said, when mixed with Sumach, to release the inner eye and to induce hallucinations (Gardener, _Witchcraft Today,_ 111).

 


	6. Chapter 6

 

Vinculus, who was in the process of turning himself into a rat, jumped, the first makings of a pink stubby tail retracting into his derrière as his concentration was broken by the doorbell chiming.

Mrs Field frowned. “Who on earth would call at such an hour?” she asked, more to herself than to anybody.

“I have it, Miss Tobias!” called one of the girls. The sound of light footsteps could be heard running to the door. A casual but nicely-dressed gentleman stood at the entryway. He had a shock of straw-like hair that would have been impressive had it not been dampened by the thick night rain that had begun to fall.

“Forgive me, madams,” he said, “but might I trouble you for some directions? I appear to have lost my way.”

“You are not from around here, sir?” asked Miss Ursula, who had answered the door. The gentleman shook his head.

“I am from Fairfield miss, but I seem to have made a wrong turn in the dark,” he replied, and peered into the house longingly. “The evening is a might cold one for September. I would not mind warming myself a little before heading on my way.”

“We do not usually take visitors,” said Miss Tobias.

“Oh, but there is a chill to this rain!” exclaimed the gentleman. “A fellow may catch his death out here!”

Miss Tobias shook her head. “I am sorry, Mr…?”

“Huxley,” the gentleman said.

“Mr Huxley,” continued Miss Tobias. “I can tell you the way and that is all, for it is late and I must see my daughters to bed.”

“Then permit me this one bit of information before I am on my way,” Mr Huxley said. “A dear friend of mine went missing the other day and I was wondering if you might have seen him. Falmont is his name.”

Something in Miss Tobias’s eyes shifted.

“Perhaps I can help you in those regards,” she said. She turned to Miss Ursula. “I suppose it could do no harm if you stayed for a short while, Mr Huxley. Come in, please.”

Childermass, who was just now exiting the library, tilted his head as a man he did not recognize followed Miss Parbringer into the parlour.

“We have a nightly visitor, it seems,” Miss Tobias told him as she breezed past with a cup of warm brandy and a dry quilted blanket. “Can I ask that you entertain our guest, Mr Childermass? Mrs Field and I have some business to attend to, and I’d rather not leave Miss Parbringer and the girls alone in the company of a stranger.”

“What kind of business would you have at half past midnight?” asked Childermass, glancing at the clock on the wall.

Miss Tobias leaned in close. “That man in our parlour was a _dear friend_ of the late Mr Falmont,” she said under her breath. “Anybody who actually enjoyed the company of that wretch cannot mean well at all.”

Childermass frowned at such casual implications of murder. “Did you not just recant your tendency to jump to conclusions, madam?” he asked.

“That was Miss Parbringer, if you recall. Something about this gentleman makes me uneasy, and I find my instincts to be seldom wrong,” said Miss Tobias. She tucked a loose strand of hair back into her bun and sighed. “I propose this, Mr Childermass. If you and your friend are not convinced by the end of the evening we shall do him no harm.”

“I admire the trust you put in my judge of character, madam,” said Childermass. “I have known only a few to do so.”

“Sensible fellows, no doubt,” replied Miss Tobias. “And if I may, there is one more thing we require of you.”

She leaned in closer to whisper in his ear.

 

 

Now supplied with brandy and blanket, Mr Huxley was regaling Vinculus with his tales at war. He had been in the navy regiment, though it did not sound like he had done much besides look through telescopes and clean up sick. Miss Ursula and Miss Flora listened and hid their yawns behind cups of warm milk. Miss Parbringer smiled, nodded, and asked polite questions that matched the shallowness of their answers.

Mr Huxley continued to talk at length, which was thankfully a vice that Childermass had learned to tune out from years spent with Gilbert Norrell. Vinculus, however, was not quite so practised. He had taken an instant disliking to the fellow, and when Vinculus did not like someone it shewed. Mostly through sarcasm.1

“…And when we captured the trabaccalo we found its captain afflicted with the King’s Evil,” Huxley was saying at one point.

Vinculus cupped his chin in his hand, feigning ignorance. “Syphilis?”

Huxley shook his head. “Scrofula.”

“Horrible, horrible affliction that is,” Vinculus said, tutting. “That on the privates, is it?”

Huxley shook his head again, unaware that Vinculus was merely teasing. “No, the neck.”

“Well you never know where _that_ ends up. Reckon he was not a pretty sight to behold with his breeches down. Not that I am implying you have, sir.”

After some time Childermass noticed that Mr Huxley kept throwing glances at Miss Ursula and Miss Parbringer. The looks grew more pronounced until they became stares, and by half past one Mr Huxley could set his eyes on nothing else.

Childermass was sharp enough to realize that these looks were quite unlike the ones Vinculus had given Miss Parbringer yesterday afternoon. Vinculus, though he put on a good show, was harmless. He never followed through on his claims to court pretty young things into his bedsheets and lost interest after a day or so (which could probably account for his unique plights of polygamy). The look Huxley was giving the young ladies now was nothing like Vinculus’s shameless flirting. It was, if anything, predatory, and Childermass did not care for it one bit.

Apparently, neither did Miss Parbringer.

“Well, this has been most enlightening but forgive me sir, we must bid you good night,” she said. “Come, girls. Time for bed.” If Huxley’s eyes had not been following their rears he might have caught the small nod Miss Parbringer gave Childermass as she departed. The girls waved good-bye and followed Miss Parbringer out into the corridors.

With the women gone, Mr Huxley now decided that the conversation should drift into more prurient waters. “Right fine ladies, those are,” he said to Childermass. “I especially enjoyed the company of Miss Ursula. A little flat in the bosom, mind you, but I am certain that she compensates elsewhere.”

Vinculus was staring, disgust now etched in every line in his features. Childermass caught himself smirking and willed his expression into something that he hoped looked amiable. It was important that he play the part. “Indeed, sir?” he asked.

Huxley nodded. His cheeks were flushed with drink. “We are but seasoned men, Mr Childermass, Mr Vinculus,” he said. “Come, gents. Have you never desired chaste, nubile flesh?” Childermass and Vinculus shared an understanding look. Vinculus swallowed the comment he had been gearing up to make, something about meat and potatoes and very small hands.

“My tastes run more developed, sir,” replied Childermass. “I find there is something to be said for aged women.”

“They are beset with wrinkles and sags,” Huxley argued. He made a noise and shook his head. “There is much to be said for young ‘uns. And in fact,” he smiled, “I dislike being beholden to anybody, so perhaps I should, ah, _thank_ Miss Ursula for the accommodation before I take my leave.” His eye drooped down in a wink.

Childermass got the implication. “She is sixteen, sir.”

Huxley shrugged and took another sip of his brandy. “So she will have no objections, then.”

If Vinculus had looked disgusted before, his countenance displayed absolute revulsion now. He was an open book in more sense than one, and it took considerable effort for him to fashion his face into something more resembling his usual aloofness.

Childermass said, “Then why not, sir? A distinguished gentleman such as yourself is obviously entitled to satisfy his needs. I believe Miss Ursula sleeps in the east corner of the house, next to her sister’s chambers.”

“Perhaps I shall have my way with both. Such pretty young ladies,” Huxley mused, flushing further at the idea. He stood. “It is always nice to discuss women with like-minded gentlemen, Mr Childermass.” And with that he left, presumably to carry out his intended deeds.

“I have seen vagabonds with better character,” Vinculus announced, once Huxley had left. Childermass silently agreed.

“I think it is time we retire, Vinculus,” he said. “The ladies have been so kind as to set up a pair of cots for us in their drawing room.”

Vinculus stretched and yawned wide. “They are not so terrible, those ladies,” he remarked. “A bit stiff, but lovely nonetheless.” He jabbed a thumb to the door. “Should we lock it in case the wanton fellow returns?”

Childermass shook his head. He only hoped he had bided the Ladies of Grace Adieu enough time. “The fellow will not be bothering us to-night,” he said. “And Vinculus, I am aware that you sleep like a log of moss oak, but should you hear any sounds in the night, you would do best to ignore them.”

 

 

Sometime between darkness and dawn, Childermass was woken by magic. He had often been roused by such means, typically when Norrell had gotten it in his right mind to cast spells in the wee hours of the morning. To this day Childermass was never sure _how_ exactly it woke him. He simply found himself asleep one moment and awake the other. Vinculus snored contentedly beside him, all magical energies either bouncing off him or avoiding him altogether due to the smell.

Childermass inhaled, breathing in the magic. It was glorious. Norrell’s magic, in comparison, was like a watery soup and this was the roasted lamb. His magic had been head magic lacking heart. Strange’s magic could not be called heart magic; simply hot-headed magic lacking common sense. Yet what Childermass felt now, this was truly Heart magic. Granted, it was magic being done to harm another, but it also being done to protect someone else. Childermass let it wash over him with only a mild sense of dizziness.

His final thought before drifting back into dreams was that perhaps giving his heart away could not be so bad after all.

 

* * *

Footnotes:

1 When a pair of gentlemen share each other's company for an extended duration, it is not uncommon that they pick up the other's habits. Latterly Vinculus's sarcasm had expanded to include several Childermassian expressions; chiefly, a kind of dry insolence that Gilbert Norrell would have recognized immediately. Childermass, in turn, oft found himself taking on a rather playful demeanor when the situation saw fit. Combined, it is accurate to say that they were a nightmare.

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

Early morning saw the two of them departing from Winter’s Realm, Vinculus in good spirits and Childermass oddly refreshed. Vinculus wished to say goodbye to Miss Ursula and Miss Flora, but they were still sleeping and Miss Tobias would not allow him to wake them. He settled for blowing large, sloppy kisses at the east windows and waving his arms at nobody in particular.

At the door Mrs Field presented them with a parcel wrapped in calico. “Your visit was most entertaining,” she said, as Childermass took the parcel. “For your troubles, we would like you to have this.” Childermass lifted the calico and saw that it was a book titled _Stenographia,_ by Johannes Trithemius.  1

“It is not much, but we assume the greater gift here has been the magic that you have learned,” Miss Parbringer told them.

“Thank you, madams,” said Childermass, bowing.

“If you permit us a moment,” said Miss Tobias, holding up a finger and looking strangely amused, "there is one more thing we would ask of you.” She disappeared briefly into the house and emerged a moment later with a brick. Both Childermass and Vinculus frowned at it, trying to wrap their heads around if it was a magical brick or an ordinary one.

“There is a charcoal burner in the village who is building himself a new house,” announced Miss Tobias. “He finds himself in a predicament as he has not ordered enough bricks for his chimney.” She smiled and held up the stone. It was straw-coloured. “This should do nicely.”

“I hear chimney bricks are the most unfortunate sort of bricks,” declared Mrs Field.

“Indeed,” agreed Miss Parbringer, nodding, “they are caked with soot and ash and are forever hot from the fires.”

“Will you do us the favor of delivering this to him?” Miss Tobias asked.

Childermass held out his hands. “It would be my pleasure, madam.”

“Do not fret if you should drop it along the way,” added Miss Parbringer. At this Vinculus cackled.

“Fare well, Vinculus and John Childermass,” said Miss Tobias. “We wish you nothing but luck in your ventures, and that you may find success in reading our King’s Book.”

“We will do our best,” said Childermass, tipping his hat.

“And do try to remember what it is you have forgotten, Mr Childermass,” said Mrs Field, as they departed Winter’s Realm.

 

 

That evening Vinculus, complaining of a sore bottom, requested they stop for the night. The River Coln trickled gaily before them, and Vinculus did not hesitate to strip and wade in. It was dark, yet his paleness—a mark of forever covering himself—shone like a beacon in the moonlight.

Childermass tethered the horses and came to sit at the river’s edge. He removed his shoes, rolled up his pants, and let his feet dangle just above the water’s surface, not quite getting them wet but letting the wind lap at his bare legs.

After a while Childermass became aware of a warmth in his pocket. He dug around and came up with the angelica and jasper amulet that Mrs Cartwright had made for them. The first inklings of faintness played at his vision. Childermass considered donning the necklace, since he could see something of a shadow up ahead, behind their horses and just past the trees. It could have been easily mistaken for a shadow of a tree under the moon, but there was something peculiar about it that Childermass could not right away place.

He considered for a moment longer, then grasped hold of the amulet and threw it into the river. Later, he would encourage Vinculus to do the same. He could see now the shadow moving up ahead, though it was moving in a curious manner that made Childermass unsure of it was a man or a trick of his eye. Vinculus, still bathing, did not seem to notice.

Childermass stood and turned on his heels. Perhaps it was just him, but the shadow seemed closer. Teasing him, as if it were playing a game.

And suddenly, he knew what to do.

There were many games in this world. Faro, tarot, billiards. Chess. The Yorkshire Game. Childermass, as he was taught by the cards, knew the nature of games well, and knew when it was time to concede a step. He bit his thumb, drawing a bead of blood, and raised his hand. Then he said the words that he knew to be true, and found that he was smiling as he said them.

“I greet thee, Lord, and bid thee welcome to my heart.”

 

_End._

 

* * *

 

Footnotes:

1 Stenographia (secret writing) by Jonhannes Trithemius, 1500. Actual work.

 


End file.
